


race for a hurricane

by adietxt



Series: ‘a softer world’ prompts [6]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Worried Sanji, Zoro and Sanji fussing over each other: the Fic. Basically, protective Zoro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 09:17:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15660246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adietxt/pseuds/adietxt
Summary: Sanji sighs. “God, you’re so exhausting.”That, somehow, gets him a stupid smirk from Zoro. “You love me,” Zoro says, his tone playful.“Unfortunately,” Sanji agrees.





	race for a hurricane

**Author's Note:**

> From [50 A Softer World Prompts](http://sleepy-skittles.tumblr.com/post/155287327552/50-a-softer-world-prompts):
>
>> We are terrible for each other, and yes, we are a disaster. But tell me your heart doesn't race for a hurricane or a burning building. I'd rather die terrified than live forever. (Mistakes aren't always regrets).

Sanji doesn’t even wait for Zoro to properly get his bearing to say, “You almost died.”

The mosshead, in his Typical-Mosshead-Way, only blinks. His only eye is bleary, like it always does whenever he’s stayed unconscious in the infirmary for too long, and it takes him a moment to meet Sanji’s eyes and says, “Yeah? So did you.”

Sanji grits his teeth and swallows down his insults. His bandaged hands are balled into fists, and he could feel them tremble, just slightly, at the memory of Zoro just a few days ago – leaning against a wall, barely unconscious, blood oozing out of the wounds around his middle – “I got stabbed. That’s every second Friday.” He points out. “You got half of your _guts_ out on the fucking ground.”

Zoro frowns, as if him bleeding to death and waking up from a coma are news to him. “It was just a spleen.”

“You’re talking out of your _ass_ , that’s what it is,” Sanji snaps back. “There was at least some small intestines peeking out –” he pauses. “Do you even know what a spleen is?”

Zoro scowls, but doesn’t reply, which is answer enough for Sanji. “…thought so,” Sanji says, sighing.

“I’m not Chopper,” is Zoro’s only comeback after a few seconds. “Besides, doesn’t matter. I’m fine now.”

Right. Fine. Sanji has a _lot_ to say about Zoro’s extremely loose definition of ‘fine’ which should _not_ include ‘going into a coma for a week after getting skewered by an axe’, but the sheer familiarity of the argument leaves him tired all of a sudden, the exhaustion rolling off of him like a wave.

He sighs. “God, you’re so exhausting.”

That, somehow, gets him a stupid smirk from Zoro. “You love me,” Zoro says, his tone playful.

“Unfortunately,” Sanji agrees, for once not in a mood for a banter with his annoying lover. He just wants to sleep for the next forty-eight hours, preferably with Zoro’s stupid, heavy arms wrapped around him. “Listen, Zoro –“

The rest of his sentence dies in his lips when he sees Zoro’s expression falls. He follows Zoro’s gaze just as the swordsman wraps his hand around Sanji’s right one, fingers caressing the back of his hand in a gentleness he rarely shows.

There’s suddenly a lump in Sanji’s throat, and it takes him some time to manage a shaky, “what?”

“Your hands,” Zoro says, and doesn’t elaborate, as if it’s explanation enough.

Sanji watches Zoro’s other hand rests around the wrist of his right hand, right below the bandages. “What’s with my hands?”

Zoro’s expression is twisted, like he’s simultaneously frustrated and angry, and doesn’t know which he feels most of. “You got hurt.”

Sanji pulls his hand away at that, the familiar anger boiling in his chest. “It’s just a scratch,” he spits out, because it really _is_ , considering Zoro’s the one lying down in the infirmary bed and waking up from a _fucking coma_ , while Sanji gets off with just a gash across his right hand. “No no _no_ we’re not having this conversation – your insides were _out of your fucking body_ , you don’t get to play the worried card!”

Sanji realizes, distantly, that he’s just admitted out loud that he’s worried about the mosshead, but he can’t be assed to lie right now, especially when Zoro ignores his rant and simply asks. “Does this not upset you?”

Sanji feels the throb of the wound under the bandages, and looks away. “That’s not the point,” he says. “This is barely anything compared to your wound –”

Zoro reaches out, placing his hand over Sanji’s left hand that still rests on the bed. “They’re important to you,” he says. “If it upsets you, it upsets me.”

There’s _something_ , in the way Zoro says the words, blunt and honest and straightforward that makes Sanji’s throat dry and it’s taking him all his power just to hold it together, jaws clenching hard enough that his teeth hurt.

Zoro slowly sits up and reaches towards Sanji, wrapping his arms around Sanji’s shoulders, pulling him so that Sanji’s head is tucked against his collarbone. Sanji feels the press of lips against his temple, soft and delicate, almost breakable. His breath shudders at the touch. “You should learn to worry about yourself,” he decides to say, after a moment.

Zoro scoffs at that. “You’re worse than me,” he says, and they both know it’s true.

So Sanji doesn't argue. “You love me,” he says instead.

“Unfortunately,” Zoro says, and his grip around Sanji feels like an anchor, so Sanji closes his eyes.


End file.
